Gratitude is a Verb

Good Morning, this United States of Trump.  A misogynistic pedophile is our new president.  Excuse me while I swallow some bile.  A fucking pedophile.  My favorite kind of piece of shit.

I just got done writing an email to my Namaslayer.  My Yogi.  There are so many things whirling through my brain, because I have had a lot of A ha ha moments in the past week, it’s hard to tease them all out, but here goes:

I have been sick since the second week of October.  So, what is that?  A month?  Anyways, I have the HIV from Dave.  That is all too well known and all to well documented in this blog.  I had a Diet Mountain Dew for him yesterday.  He was actually a Democrat.  I know he would been with her.  Hell I was.  Had to cancel my extended family’s votes out.  But, I digress.

When you are on your ass, sick, and you can’t do shit but breathing treatments every four hours and small things around your house here and there, you have waaaay too much time to think.  I have bronchitis and a sinus infection.  My doc just put me on a short course of Prednisone.  I now want to eat my cat and anything else I can get my grimy, hungry paws on.  It sucks.  Because it is colder now, my pain has jumped up about 60 notches.  Nothing can be done.  Nothing.  But asymptomatic remedies.  And since I am an alcoholic, and had a bout with Oxi Contin, no narcotics for me.  That and the massive crackdown on pain pills.  Which is fine by me, they were prescribing those drugs like tic tacs.  And they’re not fucking tic tacs.  They’re some fucking dangerous drugs.  And you don’t poop, but whatever.  So, I think a lot.

I have realized many things:

  1.  My root chakra will never be healed unless I  directly, firmly, dance with my trauma, hold the pose, end the dance, and gracefully let it go. One incident at a time.  I FINAFUCKINGLY meet with my new therapist this morning at nine am.  I am ever so grateful.  I have a map made up, I made it upload it.  We’ll see if I can get it loaded up.  But, my remaining 4 or 5 parts, are finally speaking to me.  Apparently, we went shopping.  I didn’t recall buying $800 of shit, but apparently, we did.  I didn’t know until I started get email on my phone thanking me for our capitalism.  Great. After the last bout, I sent them All to their fucking rooms.  Mala, pronounced Malayla, is 13 and is my teen.  One of them. I’ve had a lot of teenagers.  If you don’t know me personally, you might not understand.  But if you know me personally, you’ll understand my behavior sometimes.  So, Mala was complaining (as teens do) that she didn’t have a room.  So, I created one for her- in my head, because for me and my system, except when I am dialoging or making a map, most of the action goes on creatively in my head.  DID is for extremely creative and intelligent critically traumatized people, men and women.  So, a lot of our recovery work, and sometimes our actual paid work demands intelligence and creativity.  So, I digress.  I created a room for Mala with whatever the fuck a 13 year old needs.  It was all pepto bismol pink, with maribou, and feathers, and fluff and stuff.  She was ecstatic.  I called them out there yesterday and told them time out was over.  I still have to have a morning meeting with them.  You hold a meeting- they have decided on a treehouse.  Whatever, I’m way too flexible sometimes, so we will have a meeting in the tree house and I will write it down.  That is how my parts system and my part recovery process work.  So, that is why I wake up so damned early.  I have to wake up, do morning meeting, recovery stuff, meditate, pray, chill, and then start my fucking day.  Life ain’t easy being cheesy.  So, until I figure out and work with these last remaining parts, I will never be free, never lose weight, never feel okay in my body or be able to directly look myself in the mirror.  I’m sure there’s a ICD-10 code for that, but I don’t give a fuck right now.

2.  I am angry. Very, very fucking angry.  The bitch who teaches the trauma program at Forest View here in town, helped me get in touch with my anger about 3 years ago.  It’s not just anger, it’s fucking bile rage.  It’s kind of a big deal.  Cuz I didn’t have just one perpetrator, I lost count as to how many perps I had abuse/assault me.  Men and women.  I have a long way to go on relationships.  So, this winter?  It’s going to be intense, on all fronts.  I’ve been angry all my life.   But being a woman, you can’t get angry.  You aren’t allowed to show, feel, or allow yourself to become angered.  It’s bullshit.  I call bullshit.

3.  I am sick.  Have been since October.  Went to the doctor yesterday.  No good news. I’m on Prednisone which interacts with my ARV drug.  So, short course, but my cat is looking good.  But, I have , whatever.  I mentioned this before.  It really- what?  PISSES ME OFF!!!!  Shocking, I know.

4.  I have only know conditional love, unrequited love, trauma bonds and parental unconditional love.  That’s got to change.  But it has to change with me.  I have to heal my root chakra, balance the energy, and as soon as soon as I can nail that one, I am going to soar.

5.  Another perk to being flat on your back is Pinterest.  I am on Pinterest, if you care at all, all, like 7 of you.  I am gypsyzuzu.  I decided to make a Self Care and Self Esteem board.  Along with the other boards I made. Well yesterday, I printed out my “How to Get My Poop in a Group” board, my Journal board, and my Self Care board.  Only relevant pins.  I printed for a good half hour.  Need a new color cartridge.  But that box o paper I bought for grad school was a super wise investment.  And thank goddess I recycle.  So, I have my three hole punch, a binder and time on my hands today.  Can’t go to class, but I sure can lay in bed and be productive as fuck.  Let the Healing Begin!!!  Whoever said that was a fucking genius, or wrote it.  What the fuck ever.

6.  Is there really a 6?  Does there need to be a six…Oh yeah.  My dad yelled at me earlier this week and swore at me.  So, I had to take a super quick inventory once I finished being childish hurt and mad and realized he wouldn’t have barked, had I not pulled his tail.  Which is the catalyst to what has led me to all of the above.  I tend to work in reverse order.  Top down.  Whatever.  My Scottish Laddie hasn’t emailed me back since I told him I don’t do BDSM anymore.  Kinda had my fill of it.  It’s fun and all, but there are limits and moderation in mostly all things.

I don’t have any groovy quotes or any wise words of wisdom.  Just a broken soul trying to put back together this shit show of a blessed life I have.  Oh yeah, gratitude is a verb.  I was taught, early in sobriety that it’s all fine and well to be grateful for things.  “Go around the table and say one thing you’re grateful for…”  Yeah, most of us have been there.  That’s when I try not to suffocate myself with the mashed potatoes.  But, don’t fucking tell me you’re grateful- show me you’re grateful. For instance?  This blog.  When I share these secret, greasy little tidbits about my psyche and my life and how I am trying to reclaim what those sonsabitches took away- my late 20’s, all my 30’s, and hopefully half my 40’s, I am being grateful. Honest, open dialogue is a great way to be grateful.  Because, right now? Even though a pedophile Cheeto is our president (OMFG), I am grateful that my coughing seems to have chilled out.  I am grateful that I can sit upright, in my messy, but beautiful, cozy little shack, type out my game plan, share it honestly and openly with whomever, and be on my merry way.  Even though I have to wear a mask when I go out in public, I’m fucking grateful.  And no, that is not a sarcastic fucking grateful.

I hope you all have a good day.  Color, do whatever makes your spirit soar.  And I will try to load the latest, and greatest pic of my map.  Y’all take care now, ya hear?!

 

 

 

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Dave is Dead

About a week ago, I found a magnet on my door.  Some fuck nut had put a magnet on my door (private entrance), and it fucked up my security system.  So, all morning, I was on the phone with personal calls and then to the security company.  Well, I didn’t have the proper information.  My father was here when it was installed, because I was probably in the hospital.  Anyways, there was A LOT of information I needed to get clearance that I did not even know I needed.  Communication is weak in my family.  Very weak.  So, my dad is up North watching my 100 year old grandmother.  He’s being a smart ass- cuz, naturally, I thought it was Dave fucking with me.  So, my father blows me off.  Which hurt and caused old wounds to open up- you don’t care, you never protected me, blah x 3.  Then, he calls me back and tries to tell me what to do, he wasn’t hearing what I was saying.  So, we yell and he hangs up on me.  K.  Dee.  (His father)

So, then I call Dave’s old Parole Officer to see where to send the PPO.  The PO calls me back and leaves me a message: “Dave is Dead. He died last week.  Dave is dead.  You don’t have to worry about him bothering you anymore.  Dave’s Dead…”  WTF!!!!!!!

So, after I inhaled, I started to sob.  Belly aching, heart breaking sobs.  I mean, like, the full body sobs?  I’m a mess.  He was a monster.  And why he was a monster and how he became a monster, I’m not 100% sure, but I know some aspects and those are private.  Some things are best left unknown.  Even he deserves some peace. He always tried to seek God.  He tried to be a monk, he tried to go to church.  He tried everything.  Well, God is love as one of my friends told me tonight.  And, as a medium, he did make it to the other side- the light side.

His PO has no idea what he died from, we guess physical problems- HIV, HEP C, Diabetes, IDU Meth Addict.  I think he overdosed on meth as a suicide run.  That’s my bet.  AS his PO said, “doesn’t really matter, we all wind up the same.”  A freaking men.  A freaking men.

So, after I gained my composure, I called the security system company.  Apparently, my system has been in test mode for some time and I have a faulty device.  Really?  Just so happens, the beginning of the year, my neighbors stole my WIFI and changed my password.  I had to change it to something they would never guess.  Then, the magnet on the door, and something else.

And now that Dave is gone and no one knows?  Mm mm.  I gotcha.

SO, now that Dave has passed away, how do I feel?  Torn.  Really torn.  But really glad he’s not in pain and tormented anymore.  Neither are we.  We’re all free.  I think that means I have forgiven him and now I can heal.  Really heal.  Cuz I was never able to heal or grieve constantly looking over my shoulder since 2012. Jesus, what a shitty year that was. Christ!  Lost F Dog, lost Chris, Lost Button, found out I was a SRA survivor, Interferon and Dave’s trial.  Fuck that year.  If I was ever going to drink, that would have been the year.

So, I can’t sleep. I’m starving and all I have is a turkey Lean Cuisine.  Every time I get  up, I get out of breath and my chest hurts.  I don’t know wtf that is about.  I’m tired.  Just tired.  And I got a four year old coming tomorrow morning.  Er, this morning.  Jesus.  I can’t do it.  I can’t do…everyday is a battle.  With PTSD, DID, HIV, alcoholism squirrel brain, war with God, neighbors, no friends, no men, I’ve been sick with a bacterial infection for two weeks.  I was so sick last Friday, I was hallucinating.  Fuct up.  I just can’t do it.  At least, right now, I don’t feel I can do it.  I just feel like I’m almost at the top of the mountain.  Just a little further and I’ll be there, but I’m so fucking tired.

I cut a bunch of fuckers out of my facebook account.  I cut out some really long term friends who have just not been there for me and I haven’t been there for them, insensitivity, circumstances, life.  Just trimming the fat.  Plus, if they don’t give a damn about me when the shit hits the fan in my life, when I’m there for them when the shit hits the fan in their life, wtf am I hanging around for?  Or, I never hear from them?  What’s the fucking point?  None.  Just noisy fuckers.  Fuck em where they eat their eggs.

So, it’s 2:37 am here on the EST.  Usually they’d be coming home, waking me up.  I’m thinking about a food run.  It’d be fast food, but it would be something in my gut.  I need to take care of myself really hard core especially now.  No lip service, action only.

Well, I hope you are all doing well.  Life’s a bitch.  Get a helmet.  Thanks Denis Leary.